1 78 Homer : a Rhapsody. QAuGUST, 



How enthusiastically do our feelinjjs go along with the characters of 

 the Odyssey. Penelope, like the picture of Zcusis, moulded from all 

 fair and- beautiful visionings ; and old Euriclea, the nurse of Telcm- 

 achus, associated in my memory with one, upon whom I shall never 

 look again. And Helen, the Grecian lady, the impersonation of Ionian 

 richness, and attic grace — the Juliet of the poet — so enchanting in her 

 time of mourning, so humble and affecting in her beauty. 



It has been said, there is more of imagination in the Iliad, and more 

 of fancy in the Odyssey. In every page are visible the delicate foot- 

 prints of a fair and golden-sandaled creature, a young gleeful sister of 

 the imagination — the Hebe-Lyra of the spirit. 



The Iliad has more of our admiration, the Odyssey of our love ; it 

 links our feelings, like a magic chain of music. We kneel before the 

 genius of the Iliad, throned in its thick brightness ; but we hang over 

 the Odyssey, as the sweetest tale of passionate love, that ever folded 

 its sunny curtains round the spirit of the poet-dreamer. 



STANZAS. 



When stars forsake the sullen sea. 

 When rains tlescenil and winds arise. 

 Some rock a sunny bower may be. 

 If Hope but lend us eyes. 



It tracks our steps in every stage. 

 And wakes a fountain in the wild ; 

 It mingles, with the thoughts of age. 

 The rapture of a child. 



It sheds on Joy a richer glow ; 

 It flings to Want its gifts of gold ; 

 But ah ! its hand — as pure as snow — 

 Will sometimes prove as cold ! 



Yet when the graces fall from Youth, 

 And Passion's fervid cheek grows pale. 

 Then Hope becomes a thing of truth — 



A faith too deep to fail. B. 



